The Illicit Addiction

I read your words, getting lost in their cadence and timbre, yet haunted with a tinge of guilt. Still, I savor each one. How each sentence touches me deeper; tickling my mind and giving my soul the most tempting of caresses. Tempting me to keep going with this illicit affair. I'm as addicted to them as if there touch were a physical, tangible thing. My heart pounds and I feel the heat of my flesh and blood from them.

I feel so weak as I take in your words against the pages. I feel so empowered as I read them across the glow of the screen. Your words take me to another place, always that same wonderful place.

Then I get to your last page...last paragraph...last sentence...last word...last exclamation point!

I gasp, I marvel, I reflect in my indulgence of how your words shaped me like polished marble, how they redefined me.

I put you down and stare at the jilted books, jealous that I picked you over them. A few of them let that jealous rage subside and start to seduce me instead, seeing that I am a weak and an easy mark. I slip a new one from the shelf, one I've yet to take to bed with me. We get to know each other briefly. I take in her introduction as I sip some wine. I take her to bed shortly after. Slip under the sheets and under her spell.

I read her words, getting lost in their cadence...